(by Jody Young)
I. The Journey Inward
There is a quiet liberation in being disillusioned—not the bitter kind that sours the heart, but the kind that strips away illusion and reveals something raw and true beneath.
When I traveled to Ōita, Japan, to train as a renshusei under Andre Bertel Sensei, I carried expectations. I had attended his seminars before—experiencing his precision, depth, and laser-like clarity. I believed I had a sense of what was to come.
But what I encountered was something far more elemental.
From the outset, I was uncomfortable—through about 90% of every session. And that is the point. Growth is seldom comfortable.
This training felt alive. It wasn’t a curriculum to be absorbed; it was a living process shaped by presence. Bertel Sensei created conditions where something real could emerge. It wasn’t about acquiring more techniques. It was about stripping things away—filters I didn’t even know I’d built over years of training.
Karate stopped being something external to master. It became a dialogue—a raw, often confronting conversation with my own patterns, habits, and blind spots. What began as a pursuit of technical refinement became a search for something deeper and more personal.
II. Ōita and the Dojo
Ōita itself carries a quiet resonance. Its rhythm doesn’t demand attention—but rewards it. There’s a sense of order in the streets, the air, the light. And that atmosphere became the backdrop for some of the deepest training I’ve ever experienced.
The IKS Honbu Dojo is both architectural and spiritual—a purpose-built budō center that emanates presence. The first time I stepped inside, a stillness wrapped around me. Goosebumps rose before thought could catch up. This place didn’t just welcome training. It required honesty. Every detail of the dojo speaks to clarity: its symmetry, simplicity, and sincerity. You don’t just enter a room—you enter a shared agreement. To be fully present. To do the work.
And the training wasn’t confined to those walls. We trained in forests, beside shrines, along mountain trails. Nature didn’t frame the training—it was the training. The environment shaped everything: breath, movement, awareness.
When I left after my final session, it felt like saying goodbye to a friend who had witnessed something real.
III. Training Without a Mask
Each session peeled something away. It wasn’t about collecting details or refining performance. It was about confronting what was—without pretense, without escape. We began with the Jōkō kata. I had never encountered them in this way. They weren’t “forms” to be shaped into something pleasing or familiar. They were empty canvases—offering no place to hide. In contrast to more traditional kata that reward conformity, Jōkō demanded presence, awareness, and honest movement. It wasn’t about the final shape. It was about what was revealed through transition. Everything clicked—and then didn’t—and then clicked again. Each alignment felt like a discovery. Every correction was surgical, stripping away illusion. Breath, technique, and intent were recalibrated from the ground up.
I began to notice details I’d previously glossed over: shallow breath, misplaced weight, hesitation that came from thinking instead of feeling. The discomfort was honest—and it sharpened attention.
Sensei’s feedback was not a list of things to fix. It was an invitation to dig, feel, test, and take ownership. The goal wasn’t mimicry—it was to find the karate within me that was waiting to be shaped.
IV. The Instructor – A Lethal Gentleman
Andre Bertel Sensei carries a rare balance. His technique is as rooted and dangerous as any I’ve seen, yet his presence is grounded and gracious. He is disciplined, but never rigid. Exacting, but never harsh.
He teaches from principle—not repetition. He watches closely, listens deeply, and delivers precise, targeted insight. There’s no filler, no affectation. Just clarity. One moment, he’s adjusting a wrist angle. The next, he’s guiding your awareness to how mindset distorts your centerline. In his teaching, nothing is separate—body, mind, spirit, and intention are all part of the same thread. And he never presents himself as a brand or an authority to be followed blindly. He offers his karate as a personal, evolving path—and invites you to do the same. That humility makes the learning real. You aren’t given the answers. You are trusted to find them. Some people teach. Others transform.
V. Spirit, Soul, and Shrines
Karate, at its core, is not about technique. It’s about presence—showing up fully with body, breath, and spirit aligned. That invisible layer came into focus most clearly when we trained outdoors.
Among ancient shrines and running streams, surrounded by trees, karate took on another texture. There were no mirrors. No familiar reference points. Only space, silence, and movement.
These sessions weren’t rehearsed—they were lived. Organic, responsive, alive. Sensei adjusted to each location with natural ease, as though listening to each place’s rhythm. Nothing needed explanation. Everything was felt. Off the dojo floor, the same depth continued. I was welcomed into Sensei’s home. Mizuho prepared a meal that carried the same care and presence as the training itself. Their daughter Mia brought joy and laughter—reminding me that budō is not separate from life. It’s embedded in it.
These weren’t add-ons. They were expressions of the same values: authenticity, generosity, and respect.
VI. The Path Ahead
By the end of my first session in Ōita, I knew I would return.
This was not a seminar. Not a retreat. It was a recalibration—of body, mind, and direction. I came to deepen my technique. I left with something more enduring: a clearer compass. The transformation wasn’t just how I moved—but how I approached movement. It reframed how I understand Karate-do itself. This path isn’t about adding more. It’s about subtracting what no longer serves. It’s about peeling away until only what’s essential remains. This kind of training isn’t optional for serious Karateka. It’s necessary. If life allows, I will return every few months. At the very least, once a year. Each visit will mark another layer—another step inward.
I return home with more than sharper technique. I return with greater clarity—guided by attention, integrity, and truth.
押忍
Jody Young
FAQs
1. What is renshusei training, and how is it different from attending a seminar?
Renshusei training is immersive, personal, and continuous. Unlike seminars that offer snapshots, this is a living process, shaped by direct mentorship and introspection.
2. Why is the IKS Dojo in Ōita so impactful?
The dojo holds a unique energy—rooted in presence and simplicity. It’s more than a training space. It’s a space of clarity, honesty, and deep practice.
3. What makes Andre Bertel Sensei’s teaching so distinctive?
His approach is principle-driven, precise, and egoless. He doesn’t demand imitation—he fosters understanding. His guidance is personal and transformative.
4. How does Ōita’s natural setting affect training?
Training in nature removes distractions and deepens awareness. Forests and shrines strip away artifice and reconnect karate to its spiritual foundation.
5. What kind of transformation should one expect?
Expect to be challenged—and changed. Physically, mentally, and spiritually. You leave with fewer illusions, and more truth.
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